Her Only Saviour

81. Responsibility and love

𝕵𝖔 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖘𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖕𝖓𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖉
𝕹𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖓 𝖐𝖔 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖉

𝕶𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖓, 𝖉𝖊𝖐𝖍 𝖓𝖆 𝖘𝖆𝖐𝖔𝖔𝖓
𝕬𝖓𝖏𝖆𝖆𝖓𝖊 𝖗𝖆𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖎𝖓.... 𝕴𝖐𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖆..

~~~~~~

Evening light filtered softly through the hospital blinds. The room had emptied after a long day of grieving visits, gentle reassurances, and a kind nurse who'd finally coaxed the families to let Nandini rest.

But sleep had not come to her.

Nandini sat propped up on pillows, her eyes vacant, staring out the window. She hadn’t moved in over an hour.
The warmth of everyone’s presence earlier had faded into a quiet ache. Anirudh had stepped out briefly to speak with the doctor.

And then—footsteps.

Hurried. Familiar.

Two figures appeared at the door, slightly breathless from the rush.

Rajvir. Her big brother.

And Vishal. Her chaos-twin, her cousin, her partner in teenage crimes.

They didn’t knock. They just entered. Quietly. As if any sound would shatter her.

Rajvir’s usually crisp hair was a mess, his sleeves rolled hastily, suitcase forgotten somewhere at the reception.
Vishal’s eyes were swollen, his hoodie still wrinkled from the overnight flight.

The moment Nandini saw them—something inside her cracked again.

“Bhai…” she whispered.

Rajvir was at her side in seconds. He dropped to his knees beside the bed and pulled her into his arms without a word.
No questions. No explanations. Just that silent, protective hold only an elder brother could give.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he choked, burying his face in her shoulder. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve—God, Nandu, I’m so sorry…”

She sobbed against him, clutching the front of his shirt, crying like a child.

“You always promised,” she gasped. “You said if anything bad happened, you’d be there in a heartbeat…”

“I know,” he whispered brokenly. “I’m late. I failed you.”

“No,” she said quickly, pulling back to cup his face. “You didn’t. Just… don’t leave. Not now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said fiercely. “Not ever again.”

She nodded shakily, then turned to look at Vishal.

He stood frozen by the foot of the bed, hands in his hoodie pockets, head low. Silent. Still.

“Vishu…” her voice cracked.

At that, Vishal walked forward—but not like his usual self. Gone was the cocky smirk, the jokes, the carefree charm.
His steps were heavy. Haunted.

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her, tears brimming.

“I bought her a toy giraffe,” he said, trying to smile, but his lips trembled.
“Named him toffee. Told everyone he was gonna be her best friend.”

Nandini let out a painful laugh-cry, tears streaking down her cheeks again.

“I was going to make you the godfather,” she whispered.